


Dragged away

by sshysmm



Category: Lymond Chronicles - Dorothy Dunnett
Genre: Alcohol, Book 3: Disorderly Knights, Clubbing, F/M, Female Friendship, Gen, Teenage Drama, Vomiting, the band Au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2021-01-26 21:28:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21380851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sshysmm/pseuds/sshysmm
Summary: Joleta wants to go clubbing. Philippa would rather stay in and read her book. But if she lets Joleta go alone things will only be even messier...'Chose not to use warnings' because of sexual content led by teenagers - legality varies in different countries.--Written for Whumptober 2019, set in the Band AU I've been writing (see collections).--There's 31 of these ficlets and I apologise profusely for burying other work in the tags. I will *always* tag these as 'the band au' and you can usethis nifty extension (ao3rdr)to block the tag if this isn't your thing and isn't what you want to see in the Lymond tags!
Kudos: 2
Collections: Ficlets in the Lymond Band AU for Whumptober 2019





	Dragged away

**Author's Note:**

> [Originally posted on tumblr, 6 October 2019.](https://notasapleasure.tumblr.com/post/188166592089/whumptober-6)

"I don't even know what this is," Philippa held up the rumpled cloth with a look of despair.

"It's fashion, Pippa," her companion returned, blue eyes wide, an insouciant shrug on her bare shoulders.

"Joleta, no..." she looked longingly at the book she'd been forced to discard. It was winter, it was dark already, they had been in the recording studio all day, and Philippa wanted nothing more than the silence of the estate at St Mary's and the sobriety of her own company.

But she could smell the booze on Joleta's breath all the way across the bedroom - not even the copious amounts of hairspray could mask it - and Philippa knew that she would have to go to the club. If she were to let Joleta leave alone, in this state, what sort of friend would she be?

"Can't I just wear this?"

Joleta had moved into the room and was fitting a little cap over her apricot-gold curls, examining herself in the mirror with a pout. Her scorn-filled glance said it all, but she adjusted her hoop earrings and added pragmatically: "You'll be far too warm."

This was true. The velour knitwork would not weather a nightclub well. Philippa started to pull off her jumper with a groan. "Kate's always threatening to teach me to fish. I suppose now I have the equipment at least," she muttered, preparing to duck her head into the fishnet top.

"No," Joleta tutted. "You just wear it over your bra. Like Madge."

"Well I'm not like Madge," Philippa returned huffily. Joleta knew quite well that Philippa still got away with wearing crop-tops; she just couldn't resist the dig at her pace of development. Joleta liked to feel like she was the grown up one in their friendship, although in Philippa's experience adulthood was far more likely to involve sighing and wishing you weren't up so late rather than the drink and drugs that Joleta was obsessed with.

She won a partial victory, and Joleta let Philippa argue that the fishnet top and vintage blouse combination evoked Adam Ant's style. In return, Joleta fiercely applied her crimping iron to Philippa's stubbornly straight, mousey hair and forced a dark red lipstick on her.

This was how Philippa let her inebriated friend drag her away from her book.

The escape descended into nightmare first, as was customary, and then followed it up with that old cliché, farce. When questioned about ID, Joleta flashed the bouncer and got them into the club, and once inside, her smiles got her endless drinks from besotted creatures of the night. She handed those she could not swallow quickly enough over to Philippa, who was sick after a single glass of some abominable swill involving amaretto, but bitter and fizzy. Joleta danced on her own and she danced at the centre of adoring groups. She danced on stages and at the bar, flirting with anything that made eye contact and had something to offer in return. When Philippa emerged from the toilets, desperate for water and fresh air, she couldn't see her friend anywhere through the fug of smoke.

It was like the bowels of Hell: conflicting, thudding basslines that travelled through the very bones of the building; a constant thick mist of dry ice and cigarette fumes; and a heat that seemed to bend and melt the multicoloured lights dotted around the gloom.

Philippa searched the dancehalls and the bar, the stairwell and the rooftop terrace. When she went back into the ladies' to splash her face with cold water and try to corral her thoughts, she heard Joleta's laughter in a stall behind her, and, to her horror, saw two pairs of feet beneath the thin door.

"Joleta!" Philippa bashed a fist on the partition. The other girls lining up at the sinks and mirrors turned and saw what Philippa had seen.

"Och girl, no."

"Ha' some self-respect, take him awa' home if ye like him!"

Philippa clambered carefully onto the bowl in the next stall over and peered down with trepidation.

The man was an unremarkable figure in his twenties; when Philippa's shadow loomed over him he was already looking up with eyes droopy from booze, adjusting his flies. Joleta resettled her cap and twisted around to see what he had seen.

"Oh, Pippa!" her smile was not quite as bright as it had been. She rubbed a hand over her mouth, removing the last remnants of her lipstick.

It was Philippa's turn to drag Joleta away. On the pavement outside the club, shivering as they waited for a taxi, they looked like two little birds fluffed up in their winter coats. Joleta leaned on Philippa, who stroked her hair, and wondered if this was the teenage rebellion everyone was so keen on reminiscing about. She had to admit that she didn't much see the fun of it.


End file.
